It's rhyme time, brother mine!
by ShilohHolmes
Summary: A set of stories about Sherlock and Mycroft as kids. Sherlock annoys Mycroft with his mishevious side and a couple of rhymes. The detective may be good at solving crime, but he's great at annoying his brother.
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys :) Shiloh here! Well the idea for this specific story came to me when I spotted my toothbrush on the floor. My younger brother likes to take it, and I'm sort of glad he did. This Fanfic is going to be a series of stories about Sherlock and Mycroft as kids, and adults. Thanks so much for reading, and please review! Thanks! –Shiloh

If you've got a brother with a really big head,

The only place he wouldn't look is under the bed

Childhood

Mycroft gazed out the window that over-looked his front yard. His younger brother Sherlock was clambering up the portly, brown tree located in front of their home. He sighed in disagreement. _Why would anyone want to exert themselves outside for absolutely no purpose, when they could easily remain indoors and entertain themselves? _He thought to himself.

Turning away from the window, his eyes fell upon the television. A well-dressed news reporter was informing her viewers of a tragedy that had occurred in another country. The problem had started as they all seemed to, a result of a political disagreement. The solution to this "complicated happening" was obvious to Mycroft, as the system of the government appeared in black and white to him. The conundrums government officials often found challenging were the ones he liked to think about.

"Mycroft, go and fetch your brother. It's time for dinner." He heard his mother's high voice shout from the kitchen. Pushing himself up from his chair, he made his way down the hallway and out the front door.

He spotted Sherlock perched on a branch in this tree, his curly hair dangling over his face as he examined an insect. His small feet were suspended in the air, gently swaying in the breeze. Birds chirped in the distance, creating a peaceful environment. A small smile sprouted on Mycroft's face as he realized that his younger brother was oblivious to his presence. This would be entertaining.

"SHERLOCK!" He bellowed, making sure that his voice was incredibly loud. The six year old in the tree jumped ten feet up into the air, his cobalt blue eyes widening in surprise. Soon, gravity pushed the younger boy back to the Earth, and he landed on the lush green grass of their lawn with a thud.

Mycroft could not contain his amusement. Wrapping his hands around his stomach, he bent over, attempting to quell his laughter. He felt a tear run down his cheek as his gut contracted repeatedly. He could hear his younger brother picking himself up off the ground, groaning as his sore bones protested.

"You bloody idiot," Sherlock howled. "That really hurt!" Mycroft looked up from the ground, suppressing a smile. The appearance of his angry sibling had almost sparked another fit of laughter.

Sherlock's brown hair was coated with leaves and twigs, and his pale face was contorted into a face of rage. His brother's small arms were folded across his chest, and he attempted to give Mycroft the death glare.

"It's time for dinner." He managed to say in a formal voice. Before Sherlock could yell at him, Mycroft turned on his heels, making a beeline for the front door. Sherlock wouldn't dare to argue with him in front of their mother.

Evading the wrath of his younger brother, Mycroft quickly entered his home, taking his place at the dining room table. His mother and father were already seated at the table, and they smiled at his entry.

"How was your day today, sweetheart?" His mother inquired with her sing-song voice. Despite the fact that everyone in her family was an intellectual genius, Mycroft's mother tried to carry on normal conversations.

"It was usual. We got our reports back." He stated curtly, spooning a mouthful of soup into his mouth. His mother practiced what his father called "cooking binges", which meant that she only prepared a certain type of meal for a long period of time. This month, it was soup.

"And?" His mother gave him an encouraging smile.

"Mine was the best in the class." Mycroft didn't even look up from his plate when his mother applauded. He was use to outdoing every student in his grade, as they were all idiots.

"Way to go sweet heart," She smiled warmly. "Did you tell Sherlock that dinner was ready?" Mycroft opened his mouth to answer, but was stopped mid-sentence.

"Yes, he told me," Sherlock said as he took his seat at the table. "But I had to wash up in the bathroom." He glared at his brother, and Mycroft smiled in response.

Dinner had gone smoothly. Sherlock kept his mouth shut about the incident, much to Mycroft's surprise. The family debated about topics they had seen on the news, and Sherlock had complained about his hatred of school.

Mycroft aided his mother with the task of washing the dishes, while his father lectured Sherlock on the importance of education. He always enjoyed eavesdropping on the conversations the two had.

After every plate was sparkling, Mycroft excused himself from the kitchen. He walked down the hallway that led to his bedroom. Passing his brothers room, he stopped in the bathroom that the two of them shared to brush his teeth, as he performed this task after every meal. He froze when he saw that his toothbrush was absent from its home on the counter.

Everyone has "pet peeves". Those little things that make you incredibly angry, and annoyed. For some it is un-organization, and others hate it when you touch their face. Mycroft, on the other hand, detested it when other people messed with his toothbrush. The utensil was used to clean his teeth, and for some reason the action was incredibly soothing. The idea that someone would take his sacred item of peace infuriated him.

"SHERLOCK!" He yelled for the second time in an hour. He heard footsteps as the younger boy charged down the hallway, until he appeared in the doorway.

"Yes, brother dear?" Sherlock asked innocently, his dimples displayed alongside an adorable grin. Mycroft found this even more cantankerous.

"WHERE IS MY TOOTHBRUSH?"

"Your toothbrush, why would I-"Sherlock stopped feigning innocence as Mycroft backed him into the wall. His curl-coated head hit the wall with a thud, and he realized that he there was nowhere to hide.

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION." Mycroft growled, raising his hand in a threatening gesture. His little brother flinched, shielding his face with his hands.

"Mycroft, Sherlock, what's going on?" He heard his mother yell from the living room. Mycroft turned his head at the sound of her voice, and Sherlock took the opportunity to escape. The agile boy had already darted down the hallway by the time Mycroft got his feet to move.

"Come back here!" He shouted, grabbing an umbrella from its place by his door. Brandishing a new weapon, Mycroft pursued Sherlock down the lengthy hallway.

Fortunately, the brother in question tripped over a shoe that had been carelessly left in the middle of the floor. He scrambled to get up, but was inevitably cornered by Mycroft.

Raising the umbrella high over his head, Mycroft asked his question once more. Sherlock's mysterious blue eyes widened at the sight of the weapon, aware that his brother would strike him if he didn't answer. After inhaling deeply, he finally responded.

"If you've got a brother with a REALLY BIG HEAD, the one place he wont look is under the," Sherlock waited for his brother to finish his rhyme.

"Bed!" Mycroft shouted. He dropped his umbrella and burst into his younger brother's bedroom. Dropping to his knees, he peered under the wooden piece of furniture his brother slept on.

There, resting on a single piece of paper was his toothbrush. Mycroft quickly collected it in his palm, triumphantly raising it in the air. He turned around to see Sherlock giving him a knowing smile.

Mycroft walked out of the room, and into the bathroom. He squeezed a dollop of toothpaste onto his brush as he looked in the mirror. This wasn't the first time his brother had "challenged" him with a rhyme, and he knew that it was defiantly not the last either.

Present Day

John laughed as Sarah concluded her joke. They were sitting at a small table inside the restaurant located next to his flat. Sarah had invited him to dinner, and he had gladly accepted.

Sherlock had been at Mycroft's for the day. Apparently his mother was staying at Mycroft's home, and the eldest Holmes brother had forced his sibling to visit. This had left John to stay home alone at the flat, completely un-entertained. Resulting in his eager acceptance to Sarah's invitation.

"So," Sarah said. "Are you not using to having a conversation over a meal?" John felt his cheeks turn a shade of bright red. He hadn't noticed that he had been letting his date do all the talking.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry. Sherlock usually deduces things about people while we eat," He explained. He enjoyed trying to figure out how his flat mate could tell you someone's life story at a glance. "He's not a social butterfly, if you catch my drift. Sarah nodded and took a sip of water. John was about to bring up the weather when his companion began to choke.

"Are you alri-" He stopped speaking when Sarah pointed at the large window positioned behind him. Turning around in his seat, John spotted the cause of her excitement.

Outside the calm atmosphere of the restaurant, Sherlock Holmes was sprinting down the sidewalk in front of the window. He was constantly looking over his shoulder, and a small smiled played at his lips. John was shocked.

"What in the world is he doing?" He wondered aloud. His confusion increased when an angry Mycroft Holmes, came into view. The two siblings ran out of the line of the window, and John could infer that they had entered his flat. Turning his gaze to Sarah, he gave her a questioning look.

"Do you want to follow them?" She asked excitedly. John nodded his head vigorously as he sprung out of his chair and out the front door. They hadn't ordered there meal yet and had nothing to pay for.

John rushed out the door, and up the steps that led to his rooms with Sarah right behind him. The couple stepped into the living room, to find an incredible sight. Mycroft Holmes was on top of his brother, pinning him to the ground.

"WHERE IS IT?" John heard him snarl. Sherlock was two busy gasping for breath between laughs to answer. John could only stare/

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION." The eldest brother bellowed. Sherlock sucked in a breath, attempting to stop his laughter.

"If you've got a big brother with a really big head, the one place he wont look is under the," Sherlock burst into a new fit of laughter before he could finish his sentence. Mycroft leapt off his brother, and raced into Sherlock's bedroom. He emerged two seconds later, a toothbrush clutched in his hands.

Mycroft passed by his hysterical brother, and gave a nod of acknowledgment to the dumbfounded couple standing in the middle of the room. He placed his hand on the doorknob, and let a small smile sprout on his lips.

"You've had plenty of time, to come up with a new rhyme."  
-

I hoped you enjoyed the first chapter of this series lol:) Each chapter will center around a rhyme young Sherlock used against his brother. I don't know if I'm going to do a past and present with each chapter, but it worked out with this one. Please Review! Thanks!-Shiloh


	2. Chapter 2

I hoped you enjoyed the first chapter of this series lol:) Each chapter will center around a rhyme young Sherlock used against his brother. I don't know if I'm going to do a past and present with each chapter, but it worked out with this one. Please Review! Thanks!-Shiloh

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

If your brother is being a real jerk face

Set him up on a date to put him in his place

Childhood

"So, I'll come over tomorrow at six?" Mycroft feigned a smile, raising the pitch of his voice slightly. The girl in front of him was grinning from ear to ear, and she nervously pushed a lock of dirty blonde hair out of her eyes.

"Yeah, that would be great," She smiled. Her cheeks turned a shade of pink when Mycroft held his hand out to shake. Her dainty hand interlocked with his, and she suppressed a giggle. "I'll see you then."

The tiny girl quickly walked away, her fists clenched in excitement. It was obvious that she was head over heels for the eldest Holmes brother, and he knew how to take advantage of it, without leading her on too much.

The girl's name was Emma Richards, and she was in Mycroft's art class. He detested the time spent in that class, as it required creativity and what he considered to be "unnecessary legwork." He barely managed to maintain a high grade in the class, and he had to restrain himself from arguing with the teacher.

Emma, on the other hand, adored the class. She was a big ball of happiness and energy, and she could create anything with paints and a canvas. Mr. Indert, (their teacher) praised her work, and obviously favored her. Emma would always hang out with the other "preppy" girls of the school, and stare at Mycroft from across the room while they chatted and giggled. Mycroft found it absolutely pathetic.

It's not that he didn't like the girl. She was nice and pretty, and treated everyone at the school with respect. She didn't try to act smart when she talked to Mycroft, and she seemed to sound sincere when she asked him about his opinions on politics. Plus, she got along with his brother, which was hard to do.

Emma absolutely adored Sherlock. At the beginning of the school year, Emma had been partnered with him as his "book buddy." She was quick to find out that the six year old could read fluently by himself, and she decided that she would let him read to her. Emma would let Sherlock pick out the book too, aware that the picture books were absolutely insulting to the young boy.

The scary thing was that Sherlock liked her too. Mycroft's younger brother would always get excited the day his "book buddy" would come. His mother would take him to the library the day prior to "book buddies" and allow him to choose a book that he would read to Emma. Mummy was incredibly happy when she found out that Sherlock had a "friend."

"She's really nice, Mikey," Sherlock and Mycroft had been walking home from school one day when Sherlock brought her up. "She thinks I'm really smart!" Sherlock puffed out his chest and stood up a little taller, proud of the compliment he had received from the older girl.

"I guess." Mycroft ended the conversation, his interest in the subject at a zero.

Now his interest in the girl was much higher. Mr. Indert had assigned them a project that would be worth at least half of their grade. He was allowing his students to partner up to create a collage of artwork that displayed the feelings of the current season.

Mycroft had found the subject incredibly foolish, but knew better than to challenge his teacher. He was absolutely terrible at painting, sculpting, and drawing, and he had not been doing very well in the class lately. If he wanted to pass with a high grade, he needed to turn in a stellar end project.

That's when an idea had popped into his head. He would secure Emma as his partner, relying on the crush she obviously had on him. All he had to do was sweetly ask her to be his partner, and act slightly interested in her while they worked. When the project was over, he would continue to ignore her. The plan was fool-proof.

Sighing in relief, Mycroft began his walk home. The sun was shining brightly, and a gentle breeze rocked the trees that lined the road. The day was incredibly peaceful, and he enjoyed it. He smirked, already aware that his younger brother would be in a terrible mood when he arrived home. Much to his surprise, Mycroft was wrong.

As soon as he opened the oak door in the front of his family's home, he was greeted by an eager Sherlock Holmes. The small boy looked up at him with an enthusiastic sparkle in his eyes, a smile stretched across his pale face.

"Mikey! I'm conducting this AMAZING experiment, and I was wondering if you could-"Mycroft held up his hand to stop the rambling boy in front of him.

"I'm so terribly sorry, but the answer is no."

"But I haven't even-"

"Go away Sherlock. Find something to entertain yourself. Go check and see if there are any dead animals outside." Rolling his eyes, Mycroft pushed past his brother, making his way into the kitchen for a snack. His younger brother just scowled at him, crossing his tiny arms in front of his chest.

Sherlock waited for his older brother to exit the room. A mischievous smile played on his lips, and he made his way to the door. He could easily find a way to entertain himself.

Mycroft leisurely strolled down the cobblestone walk-way that led to the Richards' door. Today was the first day that he would be working with Emma on "their" project. It was Saturday evening and the calm effect of dusk was extremely soothing. He approached the door, and knocked loudly.

A tall, blonde gentleman opened the door, and he smiled down at Mycroft nicely. The man extended his hand for a shake, and Mycroft answered with a firm grip of his own. He could easily deduce that this was Emma's father. They had the same eyes and cheekbones, and he had a small tinge of makeup on his cheek from where his daughter had kissed him on the cheek.

"I suppose you are Mr. Mycroft Holmes." The man boomed. Mycroft nodded his head respectfully, offering the older man a smile.

"Yes sir. You must be Mr. Richards." He said in his most charismatic voice.

"That would be correct. I am so happy that Emma has found such an intelligent gentleman as you to accompany to dinner. Most of the boys at her school aren't very pleasurable to be around." Mycroft's brows furrowed.

Dinner? He was taking Emma to dinner?

Before Mycroft could voice his inquiry, his "date" appeared at the door. She was wearing a very fashionable top, and a fancy skirt. A grin was plastered on her beautiful face, and her eyes lit up when she saw him.

"Hello Mycroft! I'm so excited about tonight." She stepped out from behind her father, coming to stand by Mycroft's side. Her father nervously clenched his fingers at his side.

"Please have her home by ten," He said with a forced smile. "Be safe and have fun." Emma giggled and waved goodbye to her father, leading Mycroft away from her home.

"I found it so cute that you sent Sherlock as your messenger. He was bubbling with excitement when he told me that you had a crush on me, and that you wanted to have dinner with me so we could get to know each other better," She beamed at him. "You know, you could have just asked me yourself, I've actually had a slight crush on you for some time." Mycroft's cheeks turned a bright shade of red when he realized what had happened.

Sherlock had set him up on a date to get back at him for not helping him with his experiment! That little twit was going to die when he returned home!

Emma continued to chat as they walked to town, but Mycroft wasn't paying attention. He was secretly plotting how he was going to murder his younger brother. So far he had figured out that it would be slow and excruciating.

Soon they arrived at a small restaurant located in the center of town. A waiter escorted them to a small table located by a large window overlooking the street. Emma commented on how the view was romantic, and Mycroft just smiled in return.

"So I was wondering-"Mycroft pretended to pay attention as he opened the menu. It was very fancy, written in flowing cursive. A small sheet of white paper in the corner of the sheet protector caught his eyes.

If your brother is being a real jerk face

Set him up on a date to put him in his place-SH

Mycroft froze in place, slowly turning his head towards the window. In the corner of his eyes he saw someone in a dark coat dashing away. His brother was so going to die.

Present Day

Mycroft sat lounging in a chair by the fire at his home. An open book sat in his lap, but he was too contemplative to focus on it. The days events slowly began to filter into his train of thought.

He had gone to see Sherlock early in the morning, wanting his brother's help with a case. Of course, Sherlock had refused, and of course, it hadn't stopped Mycroft. He threatened his brother, forcing the younger man to do his bidding.

The day had been easy after that, and he had received hourly updates on the progress of his case from Doctor Watson. He attended a meeting during lunch, but was offered a rare evening of relaxation, and he relished it.

Suddenly, a knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts. Who could that be? He thought to himself. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

"Mr. Holmes?" He heard a female voice. He pushed himself out of his chair, checking his message as he made his way to the door.

If your brother is being a real jerk face

Set him up on a date to put him in his place-SH

Mycroft stopped dead in his tracks, pressing the green call button.

"Yes brother dear?"

"As soon as I return, I will kill you. Again."

A.N.- Hope you guys like it! Please Review! Got to go! -Shiloh


	3. Chapter 3

_And here we are with chapter three:) I apologize for not updating frequently, as I have come to discover that I am very bad at that lol. Again, this is just a fun little chapter I right when I have some spare time:) I hope you enjoy the fic, and I would be VERY APPRECIATIVE if you would review! Thanks soooooo much to everyone who already has! On with the show! –Shiloh_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**_

_It might make sense to listen to me_

_If you did, you might not drink drugged tea_

_I would continue this fun little rhyme_

_But unfortunately, I have to get to school on time_

Childhood

The sweet aroma of pancakes and syrup wafted through the air, beckoning Mycroft towards the kitchen. He groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes, swinging his feet over the side of his bed to stand on the wooden floor beneath them. His mother's pancakes never failed to get him out of bed.

It was a Monday morning, the first day of yet another long week of school. Light grey clouds littered the sky creating a dreary atmosphere. Despite the mood it created, the day was an important one for Mycroft.

He was scheduled to give a big presentation in his history class that he had been working on for weeks. Usually he invested absolutely no effort into his projects, still managing to receive an exceedingly high grade.

But this time, it was different. Mycroft's history teacher, Mr. Jameson, was an extremely intelligent man. He admired and acknowledged Mycroft's way of thinking, aware that the young boy was different then all of his other students. Mr. Jameson always expected more from Mycroft, pushing him harder then all of the other children.

Surprisingly, Mycroft didn't resent his teacher for this. In fact, he enjoyed it. Mr. Jameson's class was the only one he found remotely interesting, as the teacher actually made an effort to cater to Mycroft's high level of intelligence. The teacher expected perfection from the young genius, and Mycroft strived to please him.

This was the reason Mycroft had devoted all of his time and energy to his most recent history project. He had spent hours reading black and white text, studying detailed pictures and maps, analyzing data found in charts and graphs, composing an informational poster, and constructing elaborate and accurate models that related to his assigned topic.

Finally, after hours upon hours of hard and dedicated work, Mycroft had finally finished his project. The end product was absolutely stunning. It was filled to the brim with the most accurate and up to date information, presented in a professional way.

The colors used on the poster were pleasing to the eye, yet they didn't take away from the text. Not a single crinkle or smudge was visible on any of the papers on display. Visual component of project? Check.

Mycroft had obtained all of the information required, and more, and he had organized it all chronologically. Each objective was easy to find and supported with an umpteen amount of details. Charts, graphs, and pictures were also provided to reinforce the topic. Informational component of project? Check.

A major highlight of his project was the three dimensional model building he had constructed. It symbolized the style of architecture used during the time period he had been studying. Each piece of material Mycroft had used looked authentic, and when they were all assembled, the model was an exact replica of the original. Three Dimensional component of project? Check.

Finally, Mycroft had composed and rehearsed the lecture he would use to present the information. The speech was clear and concise, and it flowed nicely. Mycroft had always possessed the ability to be extremely charismatic, and the skill was extremely beneficial in situations like this. Vocal component of project? Check.

A large smile sprouted on Mycroft's face as he lifted his fork off the table, ready to devour his mother's pancakes. A tantalizing aroma wafted from the freshly cooked 'cakes, causing Mycroft's mouth to water. Today might actually be decent, he thought to himself.

With that thought in mind, Mycroft lifted the first bite of pancake into his mouth. He closed his eyes in delight, savoring the taste of sweet syrup on fluffy batter.

"Mycroft, are you done making out with your pancake? If so, I've got something really important to tell you!" Sherlock bounded into the room, a rare smile on his lips.

He had already adorned himself in his school uniform, and his unruly black curls fell in front of his eyes. A rare smile was stretched across his face, and his grey/blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood to deal with his brother.

"Go away, Sherlock." Mycroft attempted his most uninterested tone. The younger Holmes huffed, crossing his arms across his chest.

"No but 'Croft, this is really interesting! I promise! Ok, so, I couldn't sleep last night, so I wandered into the-"Mycroft tuned his little brother out almost instantly, focusing on the exceptional taste of his pancakes. He had no space in his brain for useless information, not today.

"Oh yes, very interesting 'Lock." Mycroft feigned interest when his brother finished talking. Sherlock beamed at him, pride evident in his eyes.

"I'm going to go tell father, laterz!" The hyper six year old dashed out of the kitchen, madly making his way to his father's room. Mycroft sighed in relief. Every time Sherlock was in the same room as him he felt twenty years older.

Finishing up the last bite of his pancakes, Mycroft picked himself up from the dining room table, heading over to the counter. Two cups of tea were resting on its surface, and Mycroft smiled. His mother must have made them earlier in the morning.

Grabbing a cup off of the counter, Mycroft made his way into the living room. He relaxed on the sofa, turning on the television to the news channel. Every morning he made the effort to catch up on politics. Raising the cup to his lips, Mycroft took a big swig of his tea.

Immediately he noticed its peculiar taste. It was bitter and tangy, definitely not what his mother usually put in her tea. Something was defiantly wrong. Mycroft dropped the cup, the contaminated coffee spilling onto the ground.

Suddenly, his head was spinning. His stomach felt like it was infested with butterflies, and that it had been turned upside down. Mycroft struggled to his feet, desperately searching for something to hold onto. His vision blurred, and he felt himself fall backwards.

Then everything faded to black.

_A few hours later_

Mycroft's eyes flashed open. He groaned as tendrils of unconsciousness slowly began to uncurl themselves from around his muddled brain. He was sprawled out on the floor of his living room, and the melodious voice of a female newscaster was blaring from the speakers of his television.

_What happened?_ He thought to himself, rubbing the back of his head with his right hand. His mouth unconsciously opened as a yawn overpowered his ability to talk. He turned his head towards the large clock hanging on the wall, slightly irritated at how slow his movements were.

The clock read 1:43. Mycroft slumped lazily onto the couch. _Why was he up so early? He woke up every day at exactly 5:45._

Another yawn pried open Mycroft's jaw as he turned to look out the windows. Sunshine peaked through the curtains suspended over the glass panes. _Sunshine? The sun didn't come out in the middle of the night._

Then it hit him. Pancakes. Sherlock. The tea. His project.

His project! Mycroft's mind whirred as he attempted to break free from his drug induced haze. _Think_! The logical division of his brain screamed.

Mr. Jameson's class was the last class he attended every day, and if he hurried, he could make it to the school on time to present his project. This thought was a beacon of hope in his mind, and Mycroft sprang to life from the couch.

He raced into the kitchen, snatching his project up delicately from the table. Despite his frantic rush, there was no way Mycroft was going to risk damaging his beautiful masterpiece.

Next he made his way into the front door, pausing his mad dash to slip on his coat. It was then that he noticed that a white slip of paper was taped to the wooden surface of the Holmes' front door. Written in Sherlock's unique handwriting, was this "message":

_**It might make sense to listen to me**_

_**If you did, you might not drink drugged tea**_

_**I would continue this fun little rhyme**_

_**But unfortunately, I have to get to school on time**_

Mycroft was certain that his face was now a bright shade of red. The little idiot had drugged his tea! His bloody tea! His hands balled into fists, and he yanked the door open violently, causing it to bang into the wall.

Sherlock had gone too far this time! Today of all days, Sherlock had decided to pull one of his stupid pranks. The idiotic twit had jeopardized the only thing Mycroft had cared about for weeks.

_Wait_. This train of thought caused Mycroft to start_. This is your fault_. The eldest Holmes brothers stared unbelievingly at the wall in front of him.

Sherlock had told him about the tea. That was what his younger brother had been rambling on and on about at breakfast. The young terror had actually instructed his older brother not to drink the tea.

Mycroft ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. The one time Sherlock had done something remotely responsible, Mycroft had ignored him. Oh the cruel, harsh, unforgiving element of irony.

Mycroft spray painted a mental note to discipline himself on one of the walls of his mind palace. Now, however, was not the time to berate himself He had a project to present.

Running out the front door, full throttle, a single thought crossed the excited boy's mind.

_Why couldn't I have been an only child._

_And that concludes the third chapter:) I am too tired to add on a present day scene to the fic, so I just decided to post it as it is:) I apologize if the characters are OOC, but hey, this one is just for fun lol. Oh and I would like to give a proper Thanks to the following peoplez-_

_BloodyRosie and onelifeonedirection. I really appreciate your support and kind words:)_

_If you are reading this, please, please, please, please, PLEASE REVIEW:) This fic hasn't received many reviews, so I might have to just end it around here. I have fun writing it, but I have so many other stories that I could work on too. But hey, if I get a few more reviews, I'll be sure to post more. Thanks lol!_

_Have a wonderful day! -Shiloh_


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